Autumn mists hung like cobwebs, or strands or raw silk--

[crimson_seeker]

Characters: Huo (getsome_sleep) and Hawk (crimson_seeker)
Date/Time: [BACKDATED] Sunday 9 October, early evening
Location: Ancient Chinese House, Melee Island
Rating: PG-ish
Summary: It starts with a discovery in the Scavengers' Yard and will probably again spin off into parts unknown. Likely destinations include the abduction plot, Orca, the Sphere's fate, and other such

Comments

[getsome_sleep]

"What right have we to solace?"

Grim as the words were, Huo found himself sitting still, making no attempt to move away as Hawk settled against him. Hawk, alone, was truly in a position to understand his frustration, the depth of the loss that they had truly suffered in the battle in Frost Mountain; and deep as that loss cut him, Huo knew that it was not he alone who suffered from it.

And part of him did yearn for solace, of that simplest sort. Not words and explanations, which had failed him utterly, but presence and the plain reassurance of contact. The part of him that was given to fury longed for these feelings, as well. He did not know when he had begun to put such stock in them, if any.

Still, his tone did not change as he spoke. What right had they, indeed? "We, who carry some blame, however little."

I drop all the words today, sorry for the edits

[crimson_seeker]

You are young. You will learn.The thought was incongruous, uninvited, yet Hawk couldn't contest the truth of it. He remembered but little of it, but the path he'd walked had left its marks, gentle or violent, upon him. The sense of absoluteness, painting the world in stark colour and deep shadow and leaving no place in half-light, that was a division that could only hold for so long

[getsome_sleep]

For once, the laughter could find no answer in him, not even one wry and dry in turn. Huo watched his brother gather up the tools, thought of his task and of everyday necessity, and thought, he is right, of course. It is gone and done. But if that was the end of it, then what hope was left, also? If he let it go, then the chance was completely gone.

"And an easy mind sees no need for work," he returned, his voice yet soft, the reprimand gentle. That was not the true thrust of Hawk's words, he knew, but one could too easily lead to the other. "To say that we could not have done more lies too near, to my tastes, to saying that there is nothing more we can do."

As soon as he said it he knew that he should not have - should not have given that fear voice. Now it was real, somewhere in the back of his mind, rearing an ugly head. His eyes on Hawk held a silent plea, suddenly - to destroy it in its infancy, before it could grow too solid.

[crimson_seeker]

It would have been too easy to get caught spinning in that circle, round and round without an exit. Hawk did know guilt, had felt it lay its stinging claws in him often enough, but had also learned to pry it swiftly free. They had taken word to Vimes and the Watch, and sought Orca in the places where he walked among the populace of Edensphere. The trouble, as always, was that Orca was not constrained to the same paths as most people.

And now Orca was dead, along with his allies, as well as Fugue. Edensphere still stood, but one could see it slowly falter, day by day. He tugged the string of his bag into a loose knot and chanced to look up as something in Huo's gaze shifted, darkened, gave ground. He felt his eyebrows knit, nascent irritation mixing now with concern.

"You're alive," he said, a little hoarsely, "to the best of my understanding. Death's the only thing that stops you from doing anything more."

[getsome_sleep]

And right again. Huo's gaze dropped a little, and his shoulders with it, although it was tension leaving his frame rather than energy. Of course it was so, he was alive - both of them, alive - and not, objectively, that much worse off than they were days ago. He had no reason to think that Fugue might not return, not when the Sphere, no matter how ragged its state, was his and designed for his pleasure. And as soon as Fugue returned...

What other choice did they have?

He saw the faint trace of irritation in Hawk's face, and something in him moved at that, a different sort of guilt and a flash of the hot resole born of self-reproach. It drove him to raise his eyes again to reclaim his mantle of controlled determination, which he often relied on as surely as he did on his sharp mind. "And even death is not permanent here," he answered. "It will not be for Fugue, either."